Page 30 of Burly Biker of Misty Mountain

“Katie, just hold on a second, will you?”

I kept walking, with the steady tread of his footsteps behind me. Then it occurred to me that I didn’t want Maverick to know which apartment was mine. I couldn’t bear to have him at my door, hoping to talk, to wear me down and let him in. He might show up months—or maybe even years—down the road when he passed through town again, reminiscing about old times.

I turned to face him, jaw clenched, eyes burning, lips pressed together in a desperate attempt to maintain my composure. Any minute now, I would burst into tears, but I didn’t need to embarrass myself further in front of Maverick.

I always knew he would leave. But I never dreamed it would hurt this much when the time actually came for him to go.

“I think I made a mistake, agreeing to this,” I whispered.

Maverick’s gaze softened and he cupped my chin in his palm. A lump lodged in my throat at his touch—the warmth of his skin, the firm pressure of his grip, confident and reassuring.

“No, you didn’t, baby,” he said.

“But I wasn’t supposed to fall in love—”

“Me neither.”

I blinked and stared up at Maverick.

“You’re…just saying that. To sleep with me. Then you’ll be gone as soon as I turn my back.”

“And what if I’m not?” he countered.

I didn’t know how to respond to that, unprepared for the possibility that Maverick might return my feelings. But if he felt about me the way I felt about him, would it actually change anything?

He was a biker, a nomad who didn’t have a home.

I was a small town girl, surrounded by the same people I grew up with, deeply nestled into the creature comforts of familiarity and routine.

I didn’t belong in his world. And he didn’t belong in mine.

Shaking my head, I pushed him away again.

“You don’t mean it.”

Maverick caught my wrist, circling his thumb in my palm. Then he pulled me closer, threading his fingers through my hair as he kissed me softly.

All my defenses and protests and the last trembling measure of self-control holding on by a thread…completely dissolved, melting like butter on a hot summer’s day. I didn’t believe him, and a small voice in the back of my mind warned me that he was probably toying with me to get what he wanted, but I didn’t care.

I had waited so long to be held like this, kissed like this. I was supposed to be practicing for someone else, but this whole time, I never dreamed of anyone else except Maverick.

He dropped his mouth to my neck, shoving my t-shirt up to knead my breast. He looped his arm around me, sliding his free hand into the back pocket of my jeans, squeezing my ass.

My body pulsed with need—tingly and bright. Maverick tugged me tight against him until no space existed between us, and it still wasn’t close enough. I needed him inside me, to flood my senses with his taste, his touch, his everything.

Anyone could walk out of their apartment right now and see us like this, but that didn’t stop Maverick from slotting his muscled thigh between my legs. Gripping my ass and dragging me forward and back, coaxing me to grind against him.

I clawed at his shoulder, blinded by the ache of pleasure quickly growing unbearable. My usual shyness was nowhere to be seen. All I could think about was my insatiable need for Maverick to touch me more, kiss me harder, to strum my body like a harp and make me sing.

A door slammed somewhere in the building.

Maverick broke away, pressing his forehead to mine, breathing heavily. He pinched my nipple until I squirmed, then smoothed my shirt down, resting his palm on my hip.

“Tell me to leave and I’ll go,” he said, hoarse and low.

Damn it. He knew I wouldn’t say it. Not now. Not after…that.

Wordlessly, I took Maverick by the wrist and led him to my apartment. As we stepped inside, I remembered the mess I’d left behind when he showed up earlier today—packing supplies scattered across my kitchen table, boxes lined up by the door.

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